


just a bad day

by raggirare



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raggirare/pseuds/raggirare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes people with anxiety just need someone to be their shield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a bad day

**Author's Note:**

> Little present for someone who made me fall in love with these two and their friendship and their existence and love love love.
> 
> I hope this makes you smile.

“Bobata.”

The laughter in the back of the classroom died down as the voice cuts through it, and Bobata straightened where he had been leaning against the windowsill, neck stretching out so he can see over the top of the heads of his classmates gathered around the same desk as him. He had already picked out it was a girl’s voice, another of his classmate’s, and he cocked an eyebrow in response to the sound of his name.

“Tsuchiyu’s lingering again.”

There was an urge to frown, not so much at the word choice but at the tone, but Bobata fought the urge down and nodded his understanding instead. He stood, ignoring comments from those he had been sitting with ( _‘god, that kid again_ ’ ‘ _you baby him too much, Kazuma_ ’ ‘ _if you keep letting him do this, he’ll never get anywhere_ ’), and instead returned to his own desk so that he could grab his bag and head out into the hall.

He could see Tsuchiyu from the door and the way he seemed to be trying to make himself disappear into a wall. The libero’s head was bowed and he was fidgeting with his fingers, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was more than a little wrong. Bobata didn’t draw attention to it, though, and instead wrapped his arm around his teammate’s shoulders and guided him towards the staircase to the roof (it might not be completely deserted, but it would be better than the crowded hallways of the lunch break).

—

“I’m sorry…”

The apology was barely a mumble, unwarranted and unneeded, but Bobata didn’t say anything. Any attempt at trying to tell Tsuchiyu that he didn’t need to apologise was going to end up in only more apologies. Instead, he lifted a hand to ruffle light-coloured hair (a surefire way to get the libero to calm down at least a little) and nudged him in the direction of the door.

“Go wait outside, okay?” he said, nudging him again, and, once his friend was finally moving, approaching the counter. The familiar coin purse with an excited Jibanyan front and centre made him smile as he slid out enough cash to pay for the small pile of snacks Tsuchiyu had been after, before switching to his own much plainer wallet to pay for his own snacks.

He left the convenience store with both bags in hand, but one look at this friend’s face stopped him from handing either of them over. He removed Tsuchiyu’s wallet from his pocket to return it to its owner (there was no word about the cuteness of it; it wasn’t the first time he had seen it, after all, and he had his own matching one his friend had won for him at a game center, white and blue with Komasan which he used for his train pass). Both bags in one hand, his free arm wrapped around the smaller’s shoulders and pulled him close into his side.

Tsuchiyu, trembling and unable to lift his gaze from his feet, barely reacted.

( _It was a really bad day, huh?_ )

—

Long fingers calloused from the familiar skin of volleyballs combed through light strands of hair in a rhythmical pattern. The pads of his fingertips pressed gently into the scalp with each pass, a massage of sorts to try and calm.

Johzenji’s libero was small. Much smaller than the average Japanese guy, and even smaller than a lot of girls. It wasn’t to say that he was weak (Bobata knew how strong he could be), but he was fragile. So out of place on a party team like theirs.

And here, now, curled up in a ball under a pile of blankets in a bed meant for someone much larger than him, Tsuchiyu looked even smaller. Even more fragile (but not as fragile as he had been an hour ago).

Attacks were never going to be something Bobata could get used to. He’d never experienced them himself (never been subject to anxiety or panic), and watching them happen in someone else with no true understanding of what exactly was happening always terrified him every time. He’d long lost count of how many times he’d sat and held Tsuchiyu through his more visible attacks, and he’d never be able to forget the one silent one in class time near the end of first year that had had a worried classmate dragging him from class to help (he’d ended up carrying the libero out and skipping school the next few days to stay home with him).

Friends outside of the team berated him for it and mocked Tsuchiyu in the same breath. Others simply teased Bobata (and Tsucchi) for being his keeper. The middle blocker had long stopped fighting words and simply focused on helping. They were friends, after all. It was the sort of thing friends were supposed to do.

(His mother had told him, once, some time in his first year of high school, that sometimes people with anxiety just need someone to rely on. Someone who can be their shield and help them do tasks that are taken for granted by those who don’t suffer. Bobata hadn’t understood it at the time, and even now he didn’t really get it, either, but he kept trying. He continued to let Tsuchiyu practically glue himself to his side whenever they went out. He continued to accompany him to anything social, and made sure he was never alone in a crowd. He was always careful not to make a big deal out of any of his friend’s requests, even something as ridiculous-seeming as paying for something at a store for him.

And, when he was needed, he sat with him through his attacks, just to give him some sort of comfort and reassurance that he wasn’t alone (he’d never be alone), even if he didn’t know what else to do.)

A stutter in the breathing beside him pulled Bobata from his thoughts and he glanced down, watching the libero’s body stir. Maybe he wasn’t quite okay. The blocker shifted down the bed so he could lie down rather than leaning back against the headboard, and he slowly freed open one edge of the blankets so he can slip underneath them as well (it wasn’t cold by any means, but Tsuchiyu seemed to find some sort of comfort in burying himself). A tentative hand reached around the curled up libero and the response was almost instant, the much smaller body turning to bury itself into a warm chest as Bobata rolled onto his side.

Carefully, he slid his other arm underneath Tsuchiyu to be able to hug him properly and wordlessly pressed his face into his hair.


End file.
